A New Begining From an OverRead Ending
by SweetLadyLinus
Summary: The end of the war and the story that erupts from there. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: A Genesis

The world had once seemed so large, so expansive and wide, with walls so dark and distant. So many untold stories and unexplored corners it bared. And in the eyes of one Miss Hermione Granger, this made the world a horrifying place. Each indefinable creature outside her windows was just another reason to stay locked within. She did not wish to play outside with the other children. Instead she would cling to her mother's side as they went about their daily routine, humming along to the songs she would sing and listening to her stories of youth. Hermione loved those days, when the sun would stream in through the open windows only to catch on the glass-framed photos and the little flower boxes would bloom in such tantalizing arrays of color.

But as time passed things began to change, the world began to change. It didn't appear nearly as expansive or as horrifying as it once had. Hermione could feel it shrink with every book her mother read her, with every word she took in. She now knew the power knowledge gave and she was not willing to let it exceed her grasp. As much as she missed those days in the kitchen with her mother they assured her that school was where all the smart little girls went. And so, with high hopes and lunch pail in hand, she set off. It wasn't a large school or even a menacing looking one. But some how Hermione still felt scared. She couldn't really put her finger on it, but she was different from the other children. She just couldn't let them know, she just couldn't let them see how terrified she truly was. So instead, Miss Granger put on the most self-satisfied expression she could muster and walked through those doors that first day with a whole new idea of who she was.

The world had kept growing smaller and smaller as more and more time passed. Until, that is, the day an odd noise awoke Hermione from deep within the pages of a book. It had almost sounded like an owl. _But that's ridiculous_, Hermione had thought to herself, _an owl, honestly? In broad daylight, in a suburb like this? _ She had dismissed the thought as nothing short of preposterous, and had returned to her reading with a soft snort of laughter. It wasn't until her mother had return, several hours later, that the true peculiarity of the subject began to unfold. "Did the postman come?" she called as she looked down at the elegant envelope lying face down on the welcome mat, her arms still heavily weighted with a week's worth of groceries . Mr. Granger, who had been sitting in his favorite chair in the family's recently refurbished den re-reading yesterday's paper, replied "No, dear it's Sunday, remember?" "Ah, yes" came Mrs. Granger's confused reply. "Why, what is it?" asked Mr. Granger, getting up from his chair and heading towards his wife's voice. In a few minutes time Hermione had been called down from her room to look at the odd bit of parchment which, unbeknownst to all three, held the very key to her future.

For without that bit of parchment Hermione would have never found herself on the Hogwarts express, she would have never met two strange little boys who would grow closer to her than any others, and she would have never learned of the magic that dwelled in her. Hermione owed that letter quite a lot. In the passed seven years it had opened countless doors while closing hundreds of others. When it first arrived it acted like a drawstring to a set of curtains she didn't know existed, illuminating a whole new world inside her own. Hermione could hardly remember what it felt like to be normal, in any way. She wasn't an ordinary girl. No, she was a witch, a talented one at that. From the very moment that this truth had been discovered she had been placed on a path that no one had really understood until it had ended mere hours ago. And it was with that final self-inflicted blow that Hermione's world had felt small once more.

It was for the sheer magnitude of the evening's events that Miss Hermione Granger was up wandering the ancient corridors of the school she loved so dearly as the rest of the castle slept…

The muffled taping of her thread bare trainers hitting the polished marble of the astronomy tower echoed through the halls as she made her way amongst the debris. Her breathe was shallow and burdened, and hung in pockets all around her. She had made this journey a hundred times, or more, though never in quite the same settling. Of course, she had wandered passed these same portraits and through these same turns and narrow passage ways, her feet had marched along this very path, but never had it been in such shambles. Never before had the outside wind been able to gust through with such freedom, never before had the golden framed pictures that marked the walls been so empty, and never before had she herself felt such unease.

The war was over. A simple statement in theory, yet in practice she found it far more difficult. It was all over. The running, the lying, the secrecy, all of it done. The voice buried deep within her subconscious constantly telling her that somewhere eyes were on her, was finally quiet. No more monster to catch. No more evil to collapse. No more responsibilities consuming her life. Their life. It seemed as though ten minutes ago she was just another eleven year old boarding a bright red steam engine, and now here she was, all grown up and watching those close to her suffer. So much joy and yet so much despair. It seemed as though they'd all lost something because of this war, some far more than others.

When the battle had come to an end, when Voldemort's body lay still, relief had filled everyone. Cheering and shouting erupted from every corner. The euphoria was evident. Though it wasn't long before Harry was pulling Ron and her away again. There were yet more explanations and decisions to be made. Harry had spared no time in telling them of Snape's memories, the resurrections stone's actions, and of this visit with Dumbledore in King's Cross Station. Once both Ron and Hermione fully understood the complexities of Lord Voldemort's downfall they had made their way through the ruble to Gryffindor tower. Sleep came easy to all three, they were each more exhausted then they really knew. Though, for Hermione, sleep did not stay. As the hours passed she began to toss and turn, until her eyes no longer hung with weariness but rather stared on completely awake. She could no longer lay, waiting for sleep to find her. No, instead Hermione reached for the sneakers she knew so well and a faded pink jumper. With no direction in mind she slipped passed the two slumbering boys and headed for the halls.

In no time Hermione had found herself in one of the many empty class rooms of the astronomy tower. And there she sat, glazing out a broken window on to the Black Lake as it shimmered in the moon light. Until a small noise awoke her from whatever deep thought she had been consumed in. It was a noise she'd heard hundreds of times, one that in any other light would have been annoying. It brought a smile to Hermione's face even without turning around. She new that sound by heart because it was that very sound that had brought him back. Without that sound Ron would have never found his way back to her. She turned her head from the broken glass to face the door way. And there he stood, his deluminator, empty of light, resting in his palm.

"Hey" he muttered, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Hey" she muttered in response.

"What are you doing up here, Hermione?" he asked in a voice just barely audible.

She stammered, trying to find the words. "Nothing" she said "just thinking"

"Oh" he replied, his eyes tracing every part of the desecrated room but the windowsill upon which she sat. They stood there, for a moment, simply taking in one another's presents. It felt as though so much had changed from that instance, mere hours ago, when she had kissed him. Everything had seemed so different then. They did not know what the night would bring. It was all or nothing and she had chosen all rather than dying with nothing. Ron had always been there, for as long as she could remember. They were a team, she, Harry, and Ron. They'd grown up fighting evil the grownups wouldn't even speak of. And through it all they were best friends, they fought of course, they were only kids after all, but when it came down to it they needed each other. Hermione knew this; it was the only thing that gave her hope when Ron had left them. Somewhere, deep down, she always knew he would return.

"Listen, Hermione" his eyes locked on hers as he made his way through the maze of over turned desks and forgotten text books. "I'm retched at words and even worse at actions but-"

"Ron please, you don't need to" Hermione interrupted.

"But I do, Hermione, I really do" he stared into her eyes with such emotion, Hermione felt as though he was seeing something no one else could.

He finally came to a stop and rested himself next to her on the wind chilled windowsill. His round face so softly dusted with faded freckles suddenly became contorted with stress; his fingers began to twist over each other in an attempt to distract from the tension drifting through the air. He sighed allowing his shoulders to shrug and his eyes to drift away from hers. "I-I-I'm just so sorry" he uttered, in a harsh whisper. Hermione watched as his eyes close. He took one last steading breathe and looked, once more, in to her eyes. "I'm such a prat" Hermione made some noise of disagreement but it was drowned out by Ron's continuing words. "I left you both, all alone in the woods. I'd known what I was getting into since first year but I-I just couldn't -I thought-" He dropped his head into his hands. His voice came through muffed and staggered. "Hermione, I thought you fancied Harry, and I just couldn't stand it. I'm so sorry. I know it's no excuse but please know that I never meant to hurt you."

"Harry?" she said in disbelief. "Harry?" she repeated. "Ronald, you can be so thick at times.

"What?" he asked, his eyes peeking through the cracks in his fingers.

"Can't you see that it's you I've fancied since 4th year, not Harry? Couldn't you see how crazy it drove me when you were with Lavender? Or how worried I've been whenever you've been out of my sight in the past year? Didn't you notice how angry I was with you for leaving? Or how much I sobbed when you left?" Ron stirred and lifted his heads from his sweaty palms. "It's you Ron, it's always been you. Why else would I have kissed you?" asked Hermione

"Well I dunno, I thought maybe in the heat of the battle n' all-" Ron began but was soon cut off by Hermione's lips being pressed furiously upon his own. "I love you, Hermione. I've known that I love you for a while now but I could never work up the nerve to tell you. I really do love you, Hermione and I'm so sorry." He said with increasing speed as he and Hermione separated.

"I love you too, Ron" She said as a soft smile found its way across her face. "That feels good to say"

"I know" replied Ron, gently kissing her forehead.

They sat there for a moment, Hermione lying across Ron's chest, both just now taking in the finality of Tom Riddle's demise. Hermione had nearly drifted off when Ron insisted they go back to bed. The young couple walked hand in hand back along the darkened halls and as they did the halls didn't seem quite as desecrated or as haunted as they had mere moments ago.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Together

It hadn't seemed long; it hadn't seemed long at all. One moment he was watching his best mate's limp body and the next it was all over. All the years of fighting against a once faceless evil had come to an end. They had all stood in awe. Not one of them could truly comprehend what had occurred. It wasn't until the first shout of joy erupted that Ron had understood the reality of their situation. Years of hopes and dreams, fears and struggles had finally come to fruition. Voldemort was dead, yes _Voldemort_ was dead. No more taboo, no more snatchers, he could speak that name without the fear of being captured or even the recognition of the inbred terror which that name concealed. Shadows no longer loomed at the corners of wizard existence.

Grief so grasped his body that before long the scene had vanished and he found himself lying awake in bed with no recollection of how he came to be there. For hours he had drifted in and out of sleep, nightmares plaguing his dreams. His stomach tossed and turned in twists of guilt. The only calm he could find amongst the dark was the slow breathe of the petite figure in the next bed. She was alive. He had glanced upon her slumbering body whenever he stirred awake, his heartbeat would steady immediately. He had found this cure for his ever racing heart many months ago somewhere deep in the brush of an untouched wood. If he could look over, even if only for a moment, and see the subtle rise and fall of her chest, he knew that in that instant things were at peace.

Ron, once again, turned his eyes to the deep red color of the canopy far above his bed and felt sleep take him once more. He was wakened mere hours later by the ruffling sound of dense fabric. He kept still, expecting something far worse than what he found. He heard the soft padding of her feet slipping across the worn wooden floors. He allowed his eyes to open just wide enough to watch as Hermione walked through the dormitory door. He had followed her, found her, and told her something he had only just told himself.

Ron laid in bed watching as his mind shifted over his memories of the night before. He saw each terrible moment in vivid clarity. His brother fell, a thousand times, before his eyes. He smelt the flames in the air. He heard the screams erupting through the dark; short piercing screams, long drawn out screams twisted with gasps of horror, and one scream that had haunted him from the moment he'd first heard it. His eyes pulled apart, letting in the new born sun. He could still see it, the way she looked that night, laying at Bellatrix's feet. He could remember that desperate need to pick her and hold her close, to tell her that he would protect her no matter what.

He rolled on to his side trying desperately to forget those thoughts. He starred about the familiar room his eyes tracing ever nostalgic inch. The rusted over dent where Dean had slammed his favorite boot on the old blacken heater, gleamed happily. The infamously squeaky floor board sat quietly just beyond what was once Seamus' bed. Even the cracked window he had caused 4th year with one of Zonko's toys seemed well rested this morning, giving no clue as to the horrors they had seen, not only in the night before last but in the past year as well. The walls, on the other hand, told a different story. The barren hooks and forgotten pins laced with ripped strips of paper, reminded of the posters and decorations which had once filled the room. No longer did the faces of Krum and other famous seekers and keepers, beaters and chasers smile down at him in those perfectly fake grins. Neville's bed sat alone in the first morning's light, no longer adorned with odd-looking plants or piled high with books of strange tittles. Childhood seemed so long ago now, when mere months ago it has seemed so absolute.

Harry made a slurping noise from his bed a crossed from Ron's feet. He knew he'd be waking up soon, judging from the tarnished old alarm clock, perched at its usual station above Seamus' bed, he'd been asleep for a little more than 24 hours now. He shifted his attention to the bed just a few feet to his left. He watched the head of messy brown curls turn slightly allowing the sun to illuminate her soft features. A gentle sigh escaped her pink lips just as her eyes began to flutter awake. For a moment she looked confused, scared even. Her eyes wandered as she undoubtedly tried to recall the movements which had brought her here. An expression of realization passed over her and she lay still. Ron silently pleaded God or whoever was listening for the right words. _Please_, he thought, _I know she's too perfect for a chump like me but I just can't lose her, okay?... Oh and Fred, where ever you are you 'ad better be raising some serious hell. _He added remembering, with a desperate pang of grief, all he had lost.

Looking back, Ron had made a great number of mistakes. He had said and did and acted in ways he knew he shouldn't have. He understood that he had hurt people. But there, in that aged old room, he could look upon the face of the one he had hurt the most. She had taken all in stride; it was just who she was, but this last time he had gone too far, he had cut too deep. He knew that he would be spending the rest of his life trying desperately to heal those wounds.

Ron's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the muffed sound of footsteps racing up the stairwell. They came to a creaking stop just beyond the dormitory door where they were soon met by a second, more weighted pair of footsteps. At first it sounded as though both had simply disappeared for no sound displayed to the contrary. Then came the unmistakable sound of hushed voices in harsh argument which was broken suddenly when one set of footsteps retreated slightly back down the stairwell with a final gawk in a disapproving tone which even the walls could not disguise as belonging to anyone other than Mrs. Weasley. Ron lifted his head in recognition of his mother's voice. Suddenly the door sprang forth, bringing with it a rush of cold air. In the door way stood the silhouette of Ginny, the youngest of the Weasley clan. It was clear that she had taken the time to clean up. Her long red hair hung in nearly dry rows down her back and the dirt that had streaked her face the night before had disappeared.

She stood there for a moment, eyes glazed over with shock. She stepped forward and then back again as if not sure of her surrounding s. she finally made eye contact, looking across the room to Hermione. The warmth in her expression seemed to break her out of some kind of trance and she spun so quickly that she nearly hit her head on the door frame. But just before she had made her way back onto the stairwell, there came a groggy voice from the bed across from Ron's.

"Ginny?" Harry asked.

It was clear that Harry had only just woken up and had not heard Ginny come in. Ginny turn back around to look at him with the expression of a child caught stealing from the cookie jar plastered across her face. Harry shifted about his dresser, finding his glasses and jamming them on his face.

"Ginny." he almost sighed.

She stared at him, lips trembling, eyes gaping. In an instant she was kneeling at the side of his bed burying her head in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as muffed sobs escaped her lips. Ron had never seen his little sister like this, she was always so strong. He didn't exactly like the way harry was holding her so close or how his hands were entwined with her hair but he knew she needed him, as much as it pained him. The two pulled apart.

"I was so scared" She whispered as she tried to wipe away the tears from her puffy red cheeks. "For all of you." She said looking around the room. "This year's been so awful, not knowing where you all are…"

"I know, Ginny. It's been rough for us too, trust me" said Hermione, her voice breaking slightly.

"What happened the night of the battle? What's been happen for the past months?" asked Ginny with a sniffle. "Please, I can't take not knowing, anymore" she added.

Before long they were curled up on Harry's bed explaining everything from Horcruxes to Hallows. Ginny never faltered, she followed each word taking them in. Harry gently glided over Ron's disappearance without a mention. But when it came time for Ron to tell of Malfoy Manor he hesitated his body visibly tensing. Hermione picked it up without missing a beat.

"They kept us in the basement, but we could still hear them arguing so we decided to say the sword was a fake." She had said, staring down at the familiar red bed spread

When the explanations had run out and the story had come to an end the four sat in silence, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's eyes glued to Ginny's. Ginny seemed as though her thoughts had gone blank, she gazed into empty space for a moment, her face expressionless.

"Well… I'm glad I didn't miss anything _too_ important" she said with a smile and a contagious laugh.

They sat there for a while smiling and laughing and realizing just how much they'd missed one another. Harry leaned over and gently placed his lips to Ginny's temple while Ron cringed. Noticing, Hermione placed a hand over Ron's and squeezed it lightly.

"_So…_" Began Ginny "On to more important business"

"Like what?" asked Harry

"_Like_, what's going on with you two?" she said with a smug grin, indicating towards Ron and Hermione.

They both Froze.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Sweet Words

Harry laughed heartily, his face filling with patches of deep color.

"Now there's a question I've been meaning to ask for ages." He said, eyeing Ron and Hermione. "Though I strongly doubt we're going to get an answer and I desperately need a shower." Chuckling as he arose from the bed.

"I'll join you" said Ginny with a broad smile.

"Right, so that after seventeen years of fighting dark magic and killing Lord Voldemort himself, I can be done in, mind you" he turned sharply to face her with one finger extended "for the second time this week, by your mum."

"Right" she replied happily.

"Seeing as I'd have about a billion other Weasleys coming after me, including my best mate" he smiled sheepishly at Ron who was currently acting as though he'd been rendered deaf "I'd say it's not going to happen"

"Fine" said Ginny gruffly, grumbling something unintelligible and throwing her hands against the mattress in a fruitless attempt at getting up. "I'd better tell mum you lot are alright anyway"

Harry held out his hand for her and she took it gratefully. Just before the two left Harry grabbed the small stack of worn but nonetheless clean clothes Hermione had left out for him. And with a soft "Thanks Hermione" they were gone.

The two sat there for a moment, both staring out the dingy windows that stood in perfect distances around the room. Hermione's mind shifted in and out of half completed thoughts, her head was still spinning from the past few months. She just couldn't forget the way Lavender Brown had looked the night of the battle. The way she had stared up at her, with such desperation, had shook Hermione deeper than she would have liked to admit. She had spent so much time hating Lavender for having something she wanted when in all honesty Lavender wanted it too. Lavender didn't deserve Greyback's cruelty, no body deserved that.

Hermione was suddenly pulled from her thought by an odd sensation creeping down her neck. She looked over to see Ron's arm extended and his fingers tracing the trail of dried blood protruding Bellatrix's knife mark. His eyes ravaged the cut, taking in each detail. They gazed on, such sadness reflected in them.

"It still bleeds?" he asked devastated

"Oh, yeah" she said with a breathy waver "I doubt if it will ever heal" She looked into his fixated eyes. "I think Bellatrix channeled dark magic through that knife"

"Oh" he almost whispered "… does it hurt?"

"Umm, well I-I don't really know"

"What do you mean?"

"Well it-it only ever happens when… when I'm having a nightmare." She said breathless

Ron's head snapped up.

"I think all the adrenaline last night must have caused it to reopen."

He starred at her for a moment, his mouth slightly open, before words began pouring out of

him.

"Hermione-I'm-so-sorry-I-shouldn't-have-let-her-take-you-I'm-so-sorry-I'll-never-forgive-myself-for-what-that-that-that-Bitch-did-to-you-I-promise-I'll-never-let-anyone-hurt-you-again-I-promise-If-only-I'd-I'd-"

"Ron…" she said grasping his hands in front of her. "I would have died. She would have killed me, Ron. You, you saved me. It's because of you that I am still alive."

"You shouldn't have had to go through that, Hermione. You shouldn't have that scar on your neck, you shouldn't have nightmares. It's all because of-"

"Don't you dare say it, Ronald Weasley, don't you dare." Said Hermione, her breathe on the very edge of a tremor.

Ron looked up only to be met with an expression of engulfing desperation and rage. "None of this was your fault. Do you hear me Ron? None of it." Hermione said placing her palm gently on one of Ron's freckled cheeks.

"I love you, Ron, and whatever you did and whatever you've convinced yourself into thinking you didn't do is in the past."

"But it's not in the past, Hermione. You're still having nightmares." He said pulling away from her touch and walking towards one of the windows allowing the mornings light to stream in, leaving only his back to her.

"Yes, I still have nightmares" she whispered as she walk over to place a hand on Ron's shoulder "But no matter how scary they are or how realistic they seem I'll always wake up, I'll always wake up here where I know you're close."

Without a word, Ron effortlessly slipped his hands around Hermione's waist and pulled her into his chest.

"I promise," he whispered. "I promise to always be there to help the nightmares vanish."

Hermione gave a soft sigh of laughter and smiled into the torn fabric of his favor old shirt. Ron leaned down slowly and placed his lips to her tangled mess of hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: "Here we go"

Hermione swept her hand across the steam ridden surface of the girl's room mirror, and starred, for an instant, at her reflection before allowing the steam to creep back. She sighed slightly when she caught the gaze of her own swollen eyes. The darkened circles that encompassed her soft brown eyes and the pale dryness that lingered on her skin revealed just how much this year had taken. Her wet hair hung in heavy curls of dark brown all around her head giving the appearance of shadows. She adjusted the towel hugging her chest and admired the sensation of being clean. She smiled contently for a moment, before letting her eyes drift over the scars the past year had cause. She turned her hands over, again and again examining each little mark that chandler had made that night at Malfoy manor. She hesitated staring at small burn mark at the base of her ring finger on her left palm which she had received many months ago, back in the tent, from Ron and a rather hot cup of tea. She grinned, remembering how he had apologized over and over. He had felt so terrible for something which had barely left a mark. Hermione could only imagine how he felt know. Why couldn't he ever just let things go? But that was just it, he was Ron, and Ron couldn't let things go, especially when it came to her. The show he'd made at Bill's wedding had surely proved that point. It was only Victor, the first boy to have ever really shown an interest in her. That night at the ball with Victor Krum had changed a lot of things for Hermione, for once she had finally felt beautiful something she hadn't thought possible. For a moment there was a glimpse of perfection, the dress, the hair, the stares, the boy. And then, as always, Ron swooped in.

Hermione could still remember the hours spent in this very room crying over all the stupid things that boy had done over the years. This restroom was unlike all the others in that its ceiling hung low and its tiling was few. When a sob escaped in this room it did not ascend to the heavens catching and bouncing upon the walls. No, in this room tears and cries would vanish as quickly as they came like the now dispersing vapors lying across Hermione's mirror. She reached for her ever faithful beaded bag, resting on the granite counter, and pulled from it her very last pair of clean clothes. Once she had changed and added just a touch of makeup she walked over the still wet tile floor to one of the massive arched windows overlooking the lake. Pulling back the gossamer draping she peered on to the small congregation below as they prepared for the ceremony. Harry and Ron were just barely visible organizing chairs.

How was she going to get through this? She'd never been very good at funerals. Once, at her Great Uncle Oswald's wake, she'd run out sobbing into her palms, when she'd only ever met the man once, all she could remember about him was he'd smelt of stale tobacco and pinched her cheeks. She had done just fine at Dumbledore's funeral but that was only because Ron had been so strong for her. Now that it was her turn to comfort Ron she just didn't know.

She took one last look at the mid afternoon sun and turned to the door to leave.

When she reached the great hall she found The Weasleys, Harry, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Kingsley, and a rather prestigious looking McGonagall standing in a large group keeping to small null conversations. Noting George's evident but understandable absence, Hermione slipped into the small space between Harry and Ron. Despite her efforts to remain unnoticed, Ron had watched her descend the steps leading to the great hall and was waiting tentatively for her to reach the circle.

"Hey." he half whispered in her ear, though no one was listening.

"Hey." She replied "How are you?"

He didn't answer but instead looked up at her, his eyes full of pain.

Leaning in she whispered "It's gonna be alright", slipping her hand into his as she did so. He gave it a light squeeze and rubbed his thumb in little strokes along its surface.

They both turned their attentions back to the slightly quieter crowd. The conversations had dissipated now, but it seemed others' eyes where now cased on Hermione and Ron. They seem to all share the same smug grins or apple-cheeked smiles, though some donned expressions of sheer confusion, still others hadn't cared to notice at all. Ginny, who had never gotten her answer, seem simply delighted. The couple, red faced and rather phased, smiled and both gave soft awkward laughs.

"well, uh… we should probably get going than." Said Bill, clearing his throat.

"right" they all muttered in agreement.

"Here we go…" whispered Ron, his voice laden with emotion.

**AN: Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews and subscriptions, they mean the world! This is my first ever FanFiction so I was extremely nervous but you guys have been wonderful. I know this chapter was short but I felt there needed to be a contrast seeing as in the past they've been so long. Oh, and I've resolved to be better about posting new chapters lives' just been a little crazy around here. Now I've got to go to bed because it's nearly one in the morning here and I've got cheer try outs tomorrow, night! Hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing. **


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own the World of Harry Potter. **

The funeral was short. There were no real precepts to it, most just wore scraps of black cloth tied around their twists or forearms. Very few words were spoken; no one wanted the service to linger. The dead were thanked for their courage and bravery in the battle and lowered into the damp earth to rest for eternity. Near to a hundred caskets simmered in the light that afternoon, each one containing the icy body of someone who had given everything so the world might be free of voldemort's evil. Their burial ground was amply placed just north of the castle and east of Hogsmeade in the soft, grassy plains just visible from Hogwarts. The rows of white marble head stones, each marked with a personal grievance, would forever stand as a reminder of the impact of the war and of those who stood to fight against it. Thousands sat weepy eyed and somber as the names of the dead were read aloud. Mothers wept openly for their children, brothers and sisters clung to each other for support, Aunts, Uncles, teachers, best friends, grandparents, business partners, estranged family members, friends made only in passing, all mourned those who had perished.

As the afternoon grew darker and the congregation drew apart, family and friends began to place flowers upon the graves. Ron dragged his feet along the marshy grass as he made his way to place the long stemmed rose, dangling between his thumb and middle finger, on his brother's grave. He read the inscription for that was sure to be the first of many times, -Fred Weasley- 1978-1998-beloved son, caring brother, devoted friend, and eternal prankster. Those words didn't describe Fred. No, those words were cold, lonely, used too often, they were meaning less. Someone reading this wouldn't understand Fred. They wouldn't love Fred the way they should. A hundred years from now the brother Ron new would cease to exist, he would be just another "beloved son, caring brother, devoted friend", one among the masses. This eulogy, forever embossed in stone, would never, could never be Fred.

He knelt down into the recently unearth peat and set the rose upon it, backing away as his family did the same. In an instance they were all back at the burrow. From the very moment his feet touched the floor it felt of home. His lungs breathed in the familiar sent as his legs tremble with the relief of his journey's completion. He was home.


End file.
